Dinner at the Dairy Freeze
by Zabbie Q
Summary: A boy named Slappy shares his dinner with a puppet named Jillian


For "058 Dinner" from the 100 fanart challenge (see 100FanArt on DA).

* * *

His full name was Robert Lawrence Stine, Jr., but only his father, his sister Hannah, and his teachers ever called him _Robert_, which was usually when he was in trouble. Everyone else had called him _Slappy_ since he was three. When asked how he got the nickname, he'd always reply, "Come over here, and I'll show ya."

He liked going by his own name instead of sharing one with his father. He especially preferred it now as he stormed into his bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

He hoped the booming sound echoed right down to the two annoyances sitting in the living room. It certainly caused the little wooden girl on his window seat to jolt hard enough she almost toppled right onto the bare floor trying to keep hold of her paperback.

Steadying her stiff white hand against the gable wall, Jillian's green eyes softened slightly with concern as Slappy stalked toward his messy bed. She was a tiny thing, about three feet tall with long black hair and a narrow face which had a pleasant temperament. A dark-green jacket hung over a blue T-shirt and jeans, and sneakers shod her wooden feet. She had one of his father's _Fear Street_ novels on her lap, and she set it to the side to scoot to the edge of the seat cushion.

"Hey, what's wrong?" she asked, her tinny voice gentle.

Slappy barely looked at her.

"Now Pop tries to be a parent!" he seethed, flopping down so hard his mattress squeaked. His blue eyes glared up at his high ceiling.

"What happened?" Jillian tried again.

Slappy did not reply right away, rage gluing his jaw shut. He was the shortest boy in the sixth grade, with a round, lightly freckled, peachy face and dark wavy hair he usually kept meticulously neat, but right then he ran a distracted hand through his stiff locks, tempted to yank them out at their roots.

When he heard the flip of paper, he raised his head to see Jillian had gone back to her book. Annoyance flared through his already agitated mind. Although he had only known the puppet girl for a few days, something inside him didn't want his only companion to desert him, especially for a teen horror story written by his father.

Gritting his teeth, his swung his short legs over his head and rocked himself forward into a sitting position.

"Pop believed a bunch of liars over his own son," he blurted out.

Jillian lowered her book again, raising her eyes to meet his scowl. Although made of paint and wood, her green gaze was extraordinarily expressive, as were her malleable pink lips.

"What did they say?" she asked kindly, her fair jaw sliding with soft clicks.

Slappy hissed through his teeth. "Hannah was babysitting the Jameson kids, and she left her bag here at the house. So, she calls and asks me to bring it over, right? So I do."

Jillian nodded, pushing back her black hair.

He raised his fists. "The Jameson's cousin, Woodson, goes to my school, and he was at the house when I came by. I give Hannah her bag and head straight for the door. Then as I'm leaving, the brats start screaming, rolling on the ground like they're in pain, and everyone is saying 'Slappy did it! Slappy did it!' But I was only in the house for, like, two seconds."

Jillian straightened, staring. "They pretended you hurt them?"

Slappy jerked his head in a hard nod. His throat tightened a little, and his eyes felt hot, but that only made him more mad. He hated feeling helpless and weak, especially when it involved his ever-so-perfect big sister.

"But if I wanted to rough them up, I wouldn't do it with Hannah in the next room!" he declared. "I'm not a dummy!"

She pursed her lips, thinking. "Why would the kids do that?"

Slappy folded his skinny arms with a grunt. "Dollars to donuts, Woodson put his cousins up to it," he said thickly. "He's hated me ever since the fourth grade."

Jillian's dark eyebrows quirked, then lowered into a suspicious look. "Did you try to 'enslave' him, too?" she asked flatly with a look which said she would lose all sympathy for him if he said yes.

Slappy glared at her. "I already told you I was sorry about that, didn't I?" he snapped.

"Only because I held the pressure point on your hand until you apologized," she replied with a toss of her black hair.

Slappy grimaced at the memory and averted his eyes.

"We're getting off topic," he growled. "I honestly didn't do anything this time, but because precious Princess Hannah said I did, Pop took her side. He sent me up here without dinner like I'm some little kid because Princess Hannah can do no wrong in his four eyes," he spat bitterly.

Jillian lowered her eyes to her book, and her sliding mouth grimaced.

"So much for 'innocent until proven guilty,'" she said quietly.

"That's what I've been saying," grumbled Slappy, drawing up his knees to his skinny chest.

No sooner had he done so, his stomach rumbled. His throat tightened again, especially when he imagined the saintly speech he'd probably hear at breakfast tomorrow after starving the whole night. And it didn't help Thursday was their weekly Pizza Night, and he'd been looking forward all day to his share of stuffed-crust supreme slices and cheesy breadsticks.

He wanted to scream at the injustice of it all, but he refused to take this lying down. There were other ways to get food.

Slappy pushed himself to his feet. "I need air. I'm going out."

Fortunately, he hadn't kicked his sneakers off at the door like he usually did. He tightened the laces, zipped up a dark hoodie over his blue turtleneck and pulled his jacket over the hoodie. Properly clothed, he stepped over to the window. Jillian's green eyes widened with realization as Slappy reached around her book to yank open the window. His room overlooked the dimly lit street and lay above the covered porch. As the pane slid up, the winter chill swept in like a river, making an involuntary shiver spasm through him.

"See ya in a few," he told Jillian, climbing onto the seat. He stuck his right leg through the opening.

She grabbed his arm, tugging him back with her super strength. "Haven't you ever seen _Pollyanna_?" she demanded shrilly. "You could get hurt!"

"Relax," he said, shaking his elbow until she released his sleeve. "I've been doing this since I was six. Watch."

She opened her sliding mouth to protest, but he slipped his other foot through the window. Once he had settled onto the porch roof, he scooted feet first down to the corner. He rolled onto his stomach, and he looked up to see Jillian watching him with bug eyes.

He grinned. "Nothing to it," he assured her, lowering his voice in case his father and sister happened to be near the front door.

Jillian leaned out as far as she could go. "Hey," she said, her tinny voice sounding hopeful, "can I come with you?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "What?"

"I'll stay out of sight," she promised. "I just wanna get outta the house too. I've been cooped up in this room, you know."

He opened his mouth to say no — he really wanted to be on his own right then — but he glanced at her wooden face. Her ligneous features looked so earnest, her green eyes so imploring, he found himself hesitating.

Weird.

Well, she _had_ listened to his problems — and he remembered she wasn't a permanent guest. She was going to be living with somebody else in a few days, and if Jillian told _her_ about what she'd seen in the Stine house, _she'd_ probably laugh her head off at him.

Better to keep on the puppet's good side for a little while then.

Slappy nodded, crawling back up toward his window. "Why not?" he said before he pointed firmly at her fair face. "But you owe me one."

* * *

As he snuck through the shadows around the side of the house, Slappy hunched his shoulders against the biting gelid wind. Although they had experienced a spring-like warmth for the past few days, at night the weather seemed to remember it was still mid-February. He cut through the woods in his backyard, his sneakers slapping against the hard dirt and the smattering of dead leaves. He didn't need a flashlight since the path was pretty clear in the half moon's light, and it was an easy line to the lit buildings in the distance.

He pulled up his coat to his mouth, breathing hot air down into opening to warm himself. Behind him, Jillian shifted inside his backpack, which he had emptied for her.

Slappy had only met Jillian two days ago. Harrison Cohen, the kid down the street, had been the one to buy the girl puppet from a yard sale in their neighborhood. Harrison admired a girl at their school named Amy Kramer, who was an amateur ventriloquist and one of Slappy's least favorite people on the planet. Against Slappy's advice, Harrison had bought the doll for Amy as a birthday present to replace her old dummy Dennis, whose head kept falling off.

However, Harrison had to wait until the next week for Amy's party, and meanwhile he had to endure the invasion of his eight younger cousins, who had come to stay with the Cohens while their house had to be repaired. Rather than risking one of them snooping through his things and damaging Amy's gift, he had turned to Slappy for help. Since they had lived two doors down from each their whole lives, and since Harrison really didn't want to tell his other guy friends about his present, he had asked Slappy to keep the puppet and not breathe a word about it.

Slappy had given his standard response for situations like this.

"Be my slave for a week, and I'll do it," he had bargained.

Since he had been in a generous mood that day thanks to the Mars Bar Harrison had brought to bribe him, he had even thrown in the promise not to tease Harrison about having a crush on Amy. While Harrison had set about raking leaves in the Stines' yard, Slappy had carried the green-eyed present upstairs. However, things had taken a turn for the weird when Slappy had been tossing Jillian into his closet to hide her, and a piece of paper fluttered from the pocket of her green jacket. Strange words in faded ink had been scrawled across it.

_Karru marri odonna loma molonu karrano_.

He had glanced at it, intending to crumple it up and chuck it into his trash bin, but before he realized he was doing it, he had sounded out the weird words instead. He had returned downstairs to play video games, and he forgot about the puppet and the paper.

But later that night a tapping on his shoulder had drawn him out of sleep, and he had opened his eyes to see a little wooden face staring at him out of the darkness. She had clasped her stiff hand over his mouth when he tried to yelp, and she had begged for his help.

"Please, I really need somebody on my side," she had pleaded, gripping the collar of his pajama shirt.

Partly thinking this outlandish situation was just a dream, Slappy had fallen back on his typical response. "Be my slave, and I won't tell anyone about you."

Jillian had responded by slapping him across the face — and in that moment Slappy had learned living, magical dolls were actually a lot stronger than they looked.

_At least Harrison didn't see me get beat by a doll_, Slappy thought, adjusting his hold on his backpack straps. After all the flack Slappy had given him for buying such a girly present, Harrison probably wouldn't let him live it down.

When they had gone far enough into the trees, two tiny hands grabbed his shoulders, and Jillian pulled herself up so they could speak.

"So, I've been wondering, Slappy," she said in his ear as she loosely wrapped her arms around his neck. "Why do you want slaves anyway?"

"Why not?" he countered with a shrug. "You don't get something for nothing, so why _give_ something for nothing?"

"But you don't have to call it 'slavery'. That's just tasteless."

"Call it what you like," he retorted, staring ahead at the silhouettes of tree branches threading across the purplish dark sky. "It's not like I do the 'enslaving' stuff on just anybody, you know. Only the kids who deserve it."

"What makes somebody 'deserve it'?"

"Lotsa stuff. People look at me and think, 'That short kid is easy to boss around.' But when I have something they want, they see they can't push me around anymore. They have to show me respect. Besides, if you do stuff for free like a sap, people will just take and take, and then they'll act like you're a horrible person if you ever say no. That's just what people are like."

She shifted forward in alarm. "What kind of people have you been around?"

"Plenty."

She fell silent for a moment. "Is your dad like that?"

"No."

Jillian didn't press further. She just hung with her arms around him, and her head bumped gently once against his, perhaps accidentally.

_Maybe she won't tell Amy anything about me after all_, Slappy thought. It gave him a small amount of cold comfort. _All in all, I never thought I'd be taking a living dummy into my own backwoods. Bet Harrison will wish he had kept Jillian at his place if he ever finds out_.

He smiled inwardly in spite of himself.

After a few more minutes of silence, Slappy spotted the end of the treeline.

"There's the Dairy Freeze," he said, pointing. The country highway ran through the woods, and the restaurant sat on the opposite side of the street between a Blockbuster and a gas station.

As Slappy reached the road, Jillian ducked back into the bag, and he made his way across into the light of the lampposts lining the parking lot.

Within minutes he stepped inside the warm dining room. Unfortunately, his mood plummeted further to see a high-school basketball team had beaten him to the register. With his stomach rumbling at the smell of fried chicken, burgers, french fries, barbecue sauce, and onion rings, he tapped his foot while some lean blonde threw a miniature temper tantrum because she didn't know what she wanted and refused to accept any of her friends' suggestions. When he at last got to the cashier, he practically growled out his order for a chicken-sandwich combo (with extra sauce) and a chocolate-fudge sundae.

His order number and soda in hand, Slappy managed to find a fairly secluded booth, the one hidden from the register by the indoor plants atop the low room divider. He tuned out the loud chatter from the basketball team, staring out the dark windows at passing cars and thinking of all the insults he would fling at the girls if he didn't have to worry about consequences.

He had stuck his backpack between him and the wall, and the zipper made a soft _zzz_ sound as the puppet passenger opened the top. Jillian poked her head out, carefully scanning over the top of the table.

After a brief moment, she asked, "Is this store supposed to be like Dairy Queen?"

"Rip-off, if that's what you mean," Slappy drawled. "One of those imitation places. Really popular in our area though."

Jillian nodded, pursing her pink lips. "Kinda has a feel of a DQ."

Slappy paused in a sip of grape soda, and he raised an eyebrow at her. "How would you know?"

Her brow arched into a look of concentration. "I think," she said slowly, "I've been to a Dairy Queen before."

He gave her a teasing smirk. "You 'think'? You don't know?"

Jillian didn't smile. Her eyes narrowed further.

"I'm not entirely sure, see," she said, "but sometimes I think I used to be human."

Slappy blinked at her. He looked at his purple beverage, then back. He tried to form a clever response, but he closed his mouth almost immediately, drawing a blank.

At last he settled on, "What makes you think that?"

She held up her little hands helplessly. "I don't know how it happened. But you're the fifth person to wake me up, and every time I'm awake, I get a new memory. Bits and pieces. I remember walking around and doing things, but I'm a lot taller and not so stiff. Like coming here, I remembered Dairy Queen. And I can remember chocolate ice cream. Swirl ice cream, I think."

Slappy leaned back in his seat, studying her. He'd been wanting to ask Jillian about where she came from, but after their first argument, he had been pointedly avoiding her, not wanting to seem weak in front of a doll. Now that he thought of it, he could almost believe Jillian had been human once: her wooden face sometimes looked like a regular little girl's when he caught a glimpse of her in the tail of his eye, and her eyes and mouth could produce an array of emotions despite their rigidity.

He pinched his chin, thinking. "If I'm Number Five, why do you keep falling asleep then?"

Her green eyes flashed, darkening in a way he hadn't seen before. Her stiff body seemed to tense.

"Mary-Ellen," she spat.

He frowned. "Who?"

"A horror and a nightmare," she said, her high voice becoming shriller, more like a hiss. "She's a living doll, and she's bad news."

Another living doll?

Slappy scanned her agitated face. "How bad?"

Jillian shuddered, making his backpack quiver. "Just hope you don't find out for yourself," she said. "But every time I seem to get somewhere with finding out who I am, she shows up and says some weird spell. The next thing I know, I'm in a new place with a new person."

He realized his jaw had fallen. "She can do magic? Like a witch?"

Jillian nodded. "And then some."

"Why does she pick on you?"

"I don't know!" Jillian threw up her little hands. "I don't remember anything before the first time I woke up, but she's always says I 'deserve it' even though I don't know what I did." Her little face spasmed, as if she wanted to burst into tears. Her green eyes almost looked like they could have grown moist in that moment, but her quiver lips pressed together. Thickly, she said, "But this time I'm going to be ready for her. No matter what I got to do."

Slappy gaped at her in disbelief, but he realized what she was implying and straightened. He narrowed his eyes. "You think she'll come to _my_ house?"

Jillian averted her wooden eyes. "I don't know. Probably. But I'm not going to go to sleep again without a fight."

A chill ran down Slappy's neck to his toes. Jillian was a strong doll, strong enough that Slappy respected it. If Mary-Ellen was strong and magical…

He looked away. "Well, in a few days, you're gonna be Amy Kramer's birthday present," he said, trying to sound calm. "Maybe she can give you a hand."

Jillian sighed, fiddling with the flap of his backpack. "I hope so. Maybe I should just keep moving from place to place. Better than winding up unconscious again."

The shuffle of footsteps over the instrumental Musak caught Slappy's attention. He looked up and through the decorative plants to see a woman with a tray coming out from behind the counter. He at once recognized his combo and sundae.

"Incoming," he warned.

Jillian disappeared back down into the backpack.

In seconds, the woman laid the aromatic tray on the table and apologized for the wait. Slappy bit back his comment about how turtles tramping through molasses go faster, but he couldn't resist a joke.

"Nothing like dead bird and some frozen cow juice for dessert," he said.

The worker wrinkled her nose but said politely, "Enjoy."

Slappy snickered as she disappeared back into the kitchen. "Some people can't handle the truth."

He wasted no time grabbing his sandwich and taking a huge bite, enjoying the juicy taste of meat, toasted bread, sauce, lettuce and tomato. He could almost forgive the basketball blonde for taking so long — he could even almost forgive Hannah at this point.

"Boy, that looks good," said the wistful tinny voice at his elbow.

Slappy chewed and moved the chicken against his cheek, sticking it out like a squirrel, so he could ask, "Can you feel hunger?"

"No," she answered, gazing at the sandwich, "but, well, I kinda miss it. I remember eating. I've tried eating with one of my other humans," she explained. "I can still taste things, even though I won't starve."

He swallowed, feeling the warm food sink into his stomach. He started to raise the juicy chicken to his lips again, but an unexpected thought entered his head. He glanced at Jillian.

He hesitated.

Then he held the sandwich toward her.

"Want a bite?" he offered.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

Slappy snickered. "C'mon, it's not like you have to worry about getting germs, do you? I promise you won't get cooties."

He waved the sandwich in front of her, like how he used to do with the feathered toys to lure their old cat, Shivers, out from under the couch on bath days. Jillian's tiny visage took on an undeniably cat-like expression of annoyance, which made Slappy snicker. She looked kinda cute, in a weird way.

"What's your problem, Jillian?" he grinned. "When's the next time you're going to taste something so delectable?"

She raised her chin. "If I do, you'd better not try to make me your slave again."

Slappy snorted, pretending to be unperturbed. Actually, the memory of the slap across his face had put that possibility far from his mind.

"Hey, how many chances will I get to see a living doll eat? You'll be with Amy soon, and I won't see ya anymore."

Jillian blinked in surprise. "Well, if you want to see me, you can always come over to Amy's house."

"Not likely," he said darkly, but then he changed his tone. He held the sandwich closer. "Last chance in three… two..."

Jillian still eyed him suspiciously, but she leaned forward to the corner of his bite mark where she could maneuver her wooden mouth for a taste. Her jaw closed like a nutcracker's, and she twisted her head side to side until she could tear off a piece of chicken, bread, and veggies oozing with Dairy Freeze's signature sauce.

She chewed thoughtfully — and her green eyes closed with bliss. She gave him a thumbs up.

"My compliments to the chef," she said, covering her mouth. After a few more chews, she swallowed.

Slappy leaned over her. "Where does it go?"

Jillian giggled a little. "I don't think I even want to know."

Slappy snickered again. He tore off another piece for her, although it meant he got poultry juice on his fingers. She gobbled the small portion in her hands like a little mouse finding a block of cheese. After he wiped his hand on a paper napkin, he passed her a hot, salty french fry.

"Want ketchup? I like mustard with fries myself," he said, pointing toward the bottles on the table.

Her wooden grin widened. "I'm feeling decadent. Let's do both."

He squirted the yellow and red condiments onto the corner of his sandwich carton, and she mixed them into a sweet, tangy orange concoction.

He lowered his sundae onto the booth. "Try it dipped in ice cream."

She complied, and he allowed her to try several creamy fries while he polished off his sandwich. It was interesting watching her eat, and she saved enough ice cream and fries for him.

"You know what's really good?" she said as he unwrapped his spoon. "Going to Wendy's and dipping your fries into a Frosty."

"My mom used to do that with Hannah and me."

She raised her head, staring at him. "Is she… passed away?"

"No," he said flatly.

"Ah."

The sudden tread of shoes caught both their attentions, and Slappy looked up. The woman who had brought out his tray strode towards them. Jillian buried herself back into her hiding spot, and Slappy gave the employee a quick look. She had one of those stern expressions his teachers gave him when they suspected he had shot a spit wad but couldn't prove it.

She stopped beside his table, placing her hands akimbo.

"All right, I keep seeing you sneaking food into your bookbag, young man," she said in a voice that tried to be diplomatically firm but didn't mask her disapproval. "We do not allow any pets except for service animals."

"I don't have a—" Slappy started to say, but he stopped, trying to figure out how to end that sentence. Was he going to tell somebody he had a doll with him? Or a talking one at that?

"Meow," came a tinny squeak from his backpack.

Slappy fixed a grin for the server and fumbled for the top strap of his bag, hauling it with him as he staggered to his feet.

"I'm going to leave right now," he said quickly without breaking his gaze. "Great food. See ya."

* * *

Slappy charged across the street back to the path in the woods, but even though he had just been kicked out of a restaurant, he burst into a hard chortle, nearly collapsing against a tree.

"That was close!" said Jillian, giggling with relief as she popped her head out. She pulled herself up, putting her face close to his head.

Slappy looked over his shoulder, grinning. "Did you actually say the word 'meow' back there?"

"I panicked!"

They both broke into guffaws which echoed through the woods. When Slappy could stand properly, he started back down the path.

"I needed something like that," he remarked, still chuckling. "You ain't too bad, Jillian."

"Neither are you, Slappy," she replied. She put her arms around his neck, humming a little. It reminded Slappy of the summer before kindergarten when Hannah used to take him to the public pool and give him piggyback rides in the water. Way back when they were still friends.

Thinking of Hannah reminded him of that afternoon's babysitting fiasco, but going to the Dairy Freeze — and playing around with Jillian — had helped him calm down enough to where he could pretend he didn't care about her low opinion of him when he saw her at breakfast. He might even give her a compliment when he saw her, just to mess with her.

He smiled to himself, imagining the scene as vividly as if it were right before him. As he began to rehearse to himself how he would enter the kitchen, how he would greet his family and fix his bowl of Frosted Flakes, Jillian drew him from his triumphant thoughts.

"Hey, Slappy?"

"Yeah?"

Still holding onto him, she wiggled against his shoulder and took a deep breath — like with her ability to eat, it was probably best not to think about how she could breathe.

"What you said earlier about the kids you deal with… I think I get it."

He turned his head slightly. "You do?"

"I don't _agree_ with it. But I get it," she said. "Sometimes you need to get control of a bad situation any way you can."

Slappy adjusted his grip on his backpack straps. "Well, if I don't look after myself, nobody else will."

"Yeah," she agreed softly. "It's kinda like being a living puppet. You have to be on your guard a lot. I mean, kids are easy enough to talk to, but grown-ups... aren't always." She exhaled, and her little knuckles clicked as she clenched her hands around the hem of his coat's collar. "One of my old humans tried to sell me when I asked her for help."

He looked over his shoulder, eyes widening. "That's just wrong."

"Thanks," she muttered. "The funny thing is that if Mary-Ellen hadn't found me and took me away from that jerk, I'd probably be worse off. Betcha she'd scream her head right off if she knew she saved me."

"Pop would call that dramatic irony," cracked Slappy, remembering the jargon his father used as an author.

The thought of some creep selling a kid, even one turned into a living doll, made his teeth clench. A sudden desire rose inside him to do something to help her — but he shook his head at himself. What could he even do? He was just a kid himself, and he knew nothing about magical dolls. Pop and Hannah wouldn't be able to help either; writing about the curse of Fear Street didn't make his father a wizard by a long shot.

Soon enough, he spotted the dark shape of his backyard through the trees, and he frowned.

"Huh, most of the lights are off."

"So?"

"Pop likes to keep a certain amount on so that any burglars will think twice about breaking in." Slappy gave a smirk. "Writing all those Fear Street books where teenagers get brutally murdered makes him paranoid."

"I'll say!" she laughed.

As he went on, a squeamish feeling awoke in his stomach. Were the lights off because Pop had discovered Slappy snuck out and had gone to look for him? No, he would've left Hannah at home in case Slappy came back, and his sister wouldn't turn off lights. Maybe some of the light bulbs burnt out? More likely, but Slappy didn't quite believe it.

He slipped through the loose plank of the back fence and crunched his way over the dried-out grass.

"You know," he said aloud, surveying the dark windows, "the last time I snuck out, I came back and found Pop sitting in my room, waiting to catch me. I think I'm going to climb up to the guest bedroom instead."

"You think that will work?" asked Jillian.

"Sometimes when it gets really cold, I sleep in the guest room because it's less drafty," he replied. "I can pretend I was hiding out in there if Pop is in my room right now."

He reached the storm drain. Although Pop had often said he'd break his neck if the bolts came loose, Slappy was still light enough to shinny his way up to the porch roof. He had to remove his gloves to pull himself up the frigid metal, and his fingers felt numb by the time he reached the guest room's window. He had to blow on them before they were warm enough to undo the mosquito netting and lift the pane, but at last he climbed through and lowered his backpack onto the neat bed.

"Cold, cold, cold," he muttered, sticking his icy hands into his shirt to warm them. They were starting to sting as his feeling returned, and on top of that, his cold nose had started to drip.

Jillian crawled onto the duvet and handed him a tissue from the Kleenex box on the bedside table. "Whatcha gonna do now?" she whispered.

"Hang out here until morning," he returned, his voice slightly adenoidal as he pinched his nostrils together with the tissue. However, as he tossed the used Kleenex into the trash bin, a wicked thought made him grin.

"Or," he said slowly, "if Pop is in my room waiting for me, imagine the look on his face if he heard me walking around upstairs. He'll flip!" He chuckled lowly.

Jillian shook her head. "You live on the wild side, don't you?"

He could get into more trouble, but it was too good to pass up. He left Jillian settling herself onto the pillow and strode into the hallway, treading on every squeaky board on his way to the bathroom. He noted with interest that his father's bedroom was opened and dark, meaning Pop hadn't gone to sleep yet.

_I was hiding in the closet of the guest room, Pop. Did you even check?_ he rehearsed.

He reached the bathroom, expecting his father's portly form to explode out of his room to catch him. However, his door remained shut.

Maybe Pop was still downstairs after all, which was both a relief and a disappointment.

However, he realized there was a chance Pop thought his footsteps belonged to Hannah or was too busy rehearsing his stern lecture he'd give Slappy to notice. Pop could tune out the world when he got focused on something.

Slappy glanced at the bottom of his door. No light shone from underneath. Either it lay empty, or Pop sat in the dark, waiting for him to climb back in the window.

Slappy smirked and tip-toed his way over, careful to avoid the squeaky spots in the old wooden panels. He stopped in front of his door, counted to three, and flung it open, parading into his room with a flip of his light switch.

"Just need to get my favorite pillow — " he started to hum, but his voice died in a nanosecond.

He sprung backwards into his wall, too shocked even to cry out.

Someone did sit on his bed, right on his favorite pillow, but it was not his father.

It was a large plastic doll.

* * *

She seemed like a little girl at first glance, but no kid had frizzy brown hair made of mop yarn or blood-red circles on her cheeks or a heart-shaped mouth. She stared at Slappy's window with her plastic hands stuck out in front of her.

Slappy heard his dry mouth stutter, "M-Mary-Ellen?"

She continued to gaze out at the night.

Then slowly — slowly — she turned her blank face toward him. Her glassy violet eyes stared at him.

Then she blinked, and her heart-shaped mouth warped into a smirk.

"Jillian told you who I am," she said in a high-pitched voice. "That makes this so much easier." She swung her plastic legs around so that she could face him and laid her hands in her lap.

Slappy took a step back, gulping against his cotton-like mouth.

Her smirk widened. "I'll make this simple. Bring me Jillian, and nothing bad will happen to your person."

He scanned her. What kind of magic did she have? Could she turn him into a doll? Or put him into a coma like she did with Jillian?

"What did Jillian ever do to you?" he asked quietly.

"Enough," came her terse answer. "Bring her here nice and quiet, handsome."

He gawked at her, but then — perhaps it was the way she had called him _handsome_ — a ripple of irritation hardened his gaping face into a tight sneer. He folded his arms, acting more in control than he felt.

"Well, then let's talk business, Pepperoni Cheeks. You don't get something for nothing," he drawled as if she were no more frightening than Tony Ferguson, the eighth-grader who tried to threaten Slappy into silence when Tony cheated on his girlfriend with her younger sister. Slappy hadn't backed down then, and in the end Tony had bought Slappy's school lunch for a month.

Mary-Ellen hummed a laugh through her closed lips. "You know what? I'll humor you," she said. "What's your price, baby doll?"

"Hey, don't rush me," Slappy said lazily. "This is a once-in-a-lifetime sorta deal. How often am I gonna meet a doll with magical powers? You do got magic, right?"

"Sure."

"Tell me what you can do. Grant wishes? Help me become President? Give me a million bucks? I mean, how much do you really want Jillian as your punching bag?"

The heart-shaped smile vanished. The violet narrowed. "Because of that girl," growled Mary-Ellen, "I lost someone important to me."

Slappy scanned the plastic face but tried not to sound disturbed. "Oh?"

Mary-Ellen jerked a nod. "Don't let her fool you with her angel act. That's not a halo over her head — it's a noose. And it's because of her that I'm not a wife and mother right now."

Slappy raised an eyebrow, frowning. "What did she do to him?" he asked, unable to imagine someone sweet as Jillian doing something horrible on purpose.

Mary-Ellen curled her plastic fingers into fists. "In the old days," she said, "Jillian used to be the daughter of a carpenter. My fiance and I came to live with her family as gifts for her little sisters. Her father had a workshop in the basement of the house, and he had a table saw for cutting wood." She touched her red cheeks, and her violet eyes filled with pain. "Must I relive what that horrible girl did to the love of my life?"

"Jillian... She..." Slappy's jaw hung low. "A-Are you sure...?"

Mary-Ellen looked at him sharply. "She stole my future with him. The least I can do to repay her is to steal away her future with the people she loves. So if you bring Jillian to me, I'll make it worth your while."

"I haven't said what I wanted yet," Slappy protested.

Mary-Ellen held up a warning hand. "If I have to get Jillian myself, there's no deal." She turned her head toward his lamp on his night table. She narrowed her violet eyes, and it flickered on. Another squint, and it flipped off. "But don't doubt I have magic, baby doll."

"Great. Maybe you can help me get a job at the Main Street Electrical Parade," Slappy drawled, but his heart clanged in his chest at her threat.

Her head snapped toward him, but her frown melted into a red grin. She broke into a high, chipmunk-like laugh.

"I like you, handsome," she said. "You remind me a little bit of my fiance."

Slappy winced.

Mary-Ellen gestured toward the open door. "Don't take long now."

* * *

He stepped quietly into the hallway.

What did he do now?

Well, what else _could_ he do? He had to hand Jillian over to Mary-Ellen if he wanted to survive without getting some horrible doll curse put on him. Besides, what had Jillian really done for him? Sure, she listened while he vented, but big deal. He could have found a squirrel in the woods and had the same experience. Sure, it was kinda fun to share his dinner with her, but she only ate what he had bought for himself with his own money. She couldn't give him anything back. She didn't even have powerful magic to do stuff for him — but Mary-Ellen did, and if Jillian was so afraid of her, then Slappy had better get that plastic thing out of his house, right?

He pressed forward, and his footsteps seemed to take on a voice of their own. _Not nice, not nice, not nice…_

Sure, this wasn't nice — but even though Jillian had been nice to him, he wasn't going to risk his life for her. He was twelve years old. He couldn't die now over a war between two dolls. And how did he know Jillian had really told him the truth about not knowing why Mary-Ellen hated her? Mary-Ellen said she had hurt her boyfriend, so Jillian wasn't such an angel herself.

_Not nice, not nice_.

Yeah, Jillian couldn't really be that nice, could she? She had probably played him for a fool like so many other people had tried to do, and he almost fell for it. She was a devil just like everybody else on the planet.

Squaring his shoulders, he reached for his doorknob.

Then he heard his dad's voice in his mind: _Better the devil you know than the devil you don't know_.

He stopped short, turning that over in his head. He wouldn't doubt Mary-Ellen was bad news, but how could he side with Jillian against her, even if he wanted to?

He glanced at his feet, picturing his dad in the living room, wishing that they were still close so that he could ask for his help, wishing that Dad would believe him if he told him there was an evil doll in their house...

Then a nasty thought flicked through his head and froze his insides.

How — he swallowed; his breathing became shallow — how did Mary-Ellen get past his dad to come upstairs?

Slappy's eyes shot toward the steps. Why couldn't he hear the T.V. in the living room? Or any movement or voices?

In that split second, he acted.

He opened the door of the guest room and sprang inside. Jillian looked up in surprise.

"What's wrong?" she squeaked.

He pointed to the empty backpack. "Get back in."

"Why?"

He spoke through his gritted teeth, doing his best to control his wavering voice. "Mary-Ellen's in my room right now, so either we get out now, or you wait around for her to get you."

Jillian bolted upright, nearly tumbling off the bed. "H-Here?" she gasped.

He nodded, hissing: "Get in!"

She obeyed. Slappy yanked the pack back on. He knew he was doing something stupid, but between Jillian and Mary-Ellen, he'd take his chances helping the doll who didn't give him the creeps.

He didn't bother closing the door behind him as he entered the hall. He crept toward the staircase on the balls of his feet and crawled onto the banister until he straddled the railing. His hands felt clammy, but he managed to slide himself down carefully until he reached the rug on the landing, which muffled his footsteps. He paused, listening — Jillian rustled but didn't speak — and, fortunately, no sound came from the second floor.

...Nor the first floor.

_Please be okay_, he pleaded, but the silence was too deafening to dismiss with false hopes.

He went slowly down the rest of the flight, swinging his legs over every other step. His breath came out too quickly, but he didn't let himself focus on it. He followed the dim hallway to the beams of light coming from the living room. Heart hammering, he peeked inside.

He gripped the door frame.

"_Pop?! Hannah?!_" he choked out.

Neither replied, but both looked up at his cry. The remains of Pizza Night laid on the coffee table, unfinished. His father and sister were both sprawled on the carpet in front of the couch, struggling to move their limbs — their tiny, wooden, puppet limbs. Hannah's sliding mouth gaped at him, and she held out a hand to him, relief momentarily replacing the fear in her blue-gray eyes. Pop tried to use the couch to pull himself to his feet like an infant learning to walk, and his shrunken glasses nearly fell off his hard nose. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. He flailed his arms, and Slappy understood the message.

_Get out! Get out!_

"Not without you," he said without even taking a second to think.

He sprang forward. He scooped them into his backpack, and Jillian helped pull them in beside her. Pop and Hannah both gawked at her, and she gave them a quick smile, but Slappy didn't wait for her to give any explanations. He shouldered the slightly heavier bag and spun toward the front hall.

Unfortunately, a high-pitched voice called to him from the second floor.

"Oh, boy toy! Don't make me come after you."

Slappy froze. Jillian smothered a gasp. The soft sound of footsteps started to descend.

_Thump, thump_.

Slappy did an about-face turn and zeroed his focus on the kitchen doorway and the back porch beyond. He started for it.

_Thump, thump_. Mary-Ellen seemed to have reached the landing.

Slappy crept through the doorway, treading lightly onto the old tiles.

"Even if you and Jillian leave, I'll find you both," Mary-Ellen called. "I always find what I'm looking for."

_Except a better-looking face_, he wanted to sling back at her, but he kept his mouth zipped.

Jillian gripped his sleeve. "It's me she wants," she hissed. "Maybe I can convince her to change your family back."

Slappy gritted his teeth. "Or she'll just put you back to sleep and turn me into a puppet to complete the set," he muttered back.

Only ten feet to the back door.

Slappy moved as quickly and as silently as he could. But he came to a sudden stop, staring.

A little body now stood in front of him in the dark — Mary-Ellen could use her magic to teleport.

"Peekaboo," she purred.

"That's just cheating!" Slappy cried wildly, leaping back.

"So's this," she replied, and a dull violet light appeared in her narrowed eyes.

Slappy lurched, suckling air through his teeth. A searing heat shot through his limbs like lightning, and they stiffened — _Like wood!_ he realized.

"Mary-Ellen, don't!" shrieked Jillian, clutching Slappy. "Please!"

"You'll both be sorry," said Mary-Ellen coolly. She stepped closer. "But maybe I have an idea you'll like to hear, boy toy."

Slappy raised his head, glaring at her. Without completely realizing he was doing it, he swung his arm back — and sent it flying into her plastic head.

"Beat it, rag doll!" he snarled at her. His voice sounded raspy.

Mary-Ellen gasped once and crumpled to the floor.

He didn't waste another second. He staggered over her fallen body and plunged his way out the door. His body still felt weird, and he had to lock his knees to move his legs, but he kept going forward.

Back into the woods. Back on the paths he knew by heart.

He didn't know where he was going, but he knew he had to do something to protect his father and his sister and Jillian — and that meant to keep going.

_I'll get you for this, Mary-Ellen_, he vowed to himself. He didn't know how he would fight a magical doll, but she was going to pay.

And soon.

THE END

* * *

If you a suggestion for which of the 100 fanart challenge topic I should try next, let me know in your comments. (The ones in bold have been done.)

001 Beginnings. 002 Middles. 003 Ends. 004 Insides. 005 Outsides. 006 Hours. 007 Days. 008 Weeks. 009 Months. 010 Years.

011 Red. 012 Orange. 013 Yellow. **014 Green.** 015 Blue. **016 Purple.** 017 Brown. 018 Black. 019 White. 020 Colourless.

021 Friends. 022 Enemies. 023 Lovers. 024 Family. 025 Strangers. 026 Teammates. 027 Parents. 028 Children. 029 Birth. 030 Death.

031 Sunrise. 032 Sunset. 033 Too Much. 034 Not Enough. 035 Sixth Sense. 036 Smell. 037 Sound. 038 Touch. 039 Taste. 040 Sight.

041 Shapes. 042 Triangle. **043 Square.** 044 Circle. 045 Moon. 046 Star. 047 Heart. 048 Diamond. 049 Club. 050 Spade.

051 Water. 052 Fire. 053 Earth. **054 Air.** 055 Spirit. **056 Breakfast. 057 Lunch. 058 Dinner.** 059 Food. 060 Drink.

061 Winter. 062 Spring. 063 Summer. 064 Fall. 065 Passing. **066 Rain.** 067 Snow. 068 Lightning. 069 Thunder. 070 Storm.

071 Broken. **072 Fixed.** 073 Light. 074 Dark. 075 Shade. 076 Who? 077 What? 078 Where? 079 When? 080 Why?

081 How? **082 If.** 083 And. 084 He. 085 She. **086 Choices.** 087 Life. 088 School. 089 Work. 090 Home.

091 Birthday. 092 Christmas. 093 Thanksgiving. 094 Independence. 095 New Year. 096—100 Artist's Choice.


End file.
